In Print
by Sadie2
Summary: old Rory/Tristan story... typical Trory fluff 'n' stuff


Title: In Print  
Pairing: Trory  
Rating: PG, PG-13, I guess  
Author's Notes: I wrote this months ago in response to this challenge – it sort of goes on like season 2 hasn't happened. I wrote it when I was a major Trory fan. It has some cliches, but it was fun to write and I'd like to finish it someday soon. No flames please, because they make me cry.  
  
Summary: Answer to a challenge posted at chilton.cjb.net --  
Okay, another TRORY story. It must be humouristic but touching and with R/T ending (do not need to be a happy-ending) Must contain:  
  
- First words to be 'End of the story. So, what do you think?'  
- Rory and Tristan being gossiped about slepping with each other (which at that time is not true)  
- Paris pouring coffee instead of a cup on Rory's head  
- Mr Medina humiliating Rory and Tristan in front of whole school  
- Rory saying 'Major dilemma' and Tristan saying 'I don't thing it is a good idea to kill her.'   
- Rory and Dean breaking up  
- Luke and Lorelai making out in an empty diner (while Taylor and Miss Patty walk in)  
- Lane, Henry, Madelaine, Louise, Emily and Richard  
- lots of KB (meaning lots of words so I can read something to my sleep)  
  
Must be set after Madelaine party and The Kiss  
  
  
Chapter One:  
  
"End of the story. So, what do you think?" Paris Gellar slammed her pencil onto the desk and looked at Rory Gilmore intensely.   
  
Rory carefully took a sip of coffee before responding.  
  
"What? What's wrong with it?" Paris demanded, taking Rory's silence for dissapproval. Her expression turned somewhat frantic. "The flow, the premise, the closing, what is it?" she snapped.   
  
Rory hesitated. "Well... you did use the word 'definitely' three times in the first paragraph," she said carefully.  
  
"I did not! Did I?" Paris eyes' hastily scanned her article. " 'There was definitely not a definite show of support for the...' " she read aloud, then threw the paper onto the desk in disgust. "I am in hell. What was I thinking? We go to print Monday, and all I've got is..." She stopped in frustration. "I don't even have a word for what I've got."  
  
"I think it's called the flu," Rory suggested helpfully.   
  
Paris narrowed her eyes. "Are you saying I look sick?" Rory wisely chose not to answer that question. Paris' eyes were watery, her nose was red and running, and her hair was a stringy mess. "I don't get sick; I get organized. Joe!" she snapped her fingers, and Joe Steffen, the sports columnist, rushed to her side.  
  
"Yes, Paris?" he asked formally, keeping his eyes on the ground.   
  
"Get me Paul Simmons' home number," she instructed. "I've got to confirm the quotes for Lisa's article, because God knows she never does it herself." This she said to Rory as Joe left to do her bidding. "Then," she continued, ticking off on her fingers. "I've got to edit Louise's article, schedule an interview with Mrs. Stevenson, hunt down the janitor to get more toner from the supply closet, and, oh yeah, put together an entire newspaper. And that, Rory, is why I am not, cannot, will never get, sick."   
  
"Sorry, my mistake," Rory apologized quickly. "For some reason, the coughing and sneezing and vomiting led me to the obviously insane and unfounded conclusion that you were not well. Please pardon my insolence."  
  
Paris glared at her. "I did not vomit--"  
  
"We all heard you," Louise put in as she walked past, and wrinkled her nose. "Plus, you might do with a Certs or something."  
  
Paris set her jaw, eyes blazing.   
  
"Paris," Rory jumped in, trying to prevent any forthcoming bloodshed. "How are we doing on those last two articles?"  
  
"Oh, you mean you actually want to discuss the paper now?" Paris asked sarcastically. "Because gee, I was under the conclusion that we were all here to talk about me-- as apparently the rest of you were."  
  
"Paris, chill," Madeline advised her. She cowered under Paris' glare. "I'm sorry."  
  
  
************************************************************************************************  
  
"So then Madeline resuggested a gossip column to fill in the extra space--"  
  
"And that's when Paris actually burst into flames?" Lorelai guessed, eyes wide.  
  
"She came close, but I think her eyes and nose were too soggy to catch fire," Rory explained.   
  
"Thank goodness for small favors," Lorelai stabbed at a French fry with her fork.   
  
"I think I'd consider not catching on fire a pretty big favor," Rory pointed out.   
  
"That depends," Lorelai said knowingly, shrugging.  
  
Rory raised an eyebrow and looked at her mother strangely. "On... ?"  
  
"On..." Lorelai hesitated. "On.. whether... or not... you like to catch on fire." She waved her hands and shrugged irritably. "You know not to challenge me before I've met my daily coffee requirement." She gestured towards Luke, who was wiping down the counter, and called out, "Luke! Coffee! Now!" Rory cast her a chiding look, and she added, "Er, there was a 'please' hidden under there somewhere!"  
  
Rory shook her head as Luke arrived at their table. "You'd think she was raised by a pack of wolves," she told him sorrowfully.  
  
"Yes, but a pack of expertly-coiffed, stylishly-groomed, beautifully... hey, where are you going with my coffee?" Lorelai demanded of Luke, who'd begun backing away as soon as she'd started speaking.   
  
"Oh, I'm sorry," Luke answered faux-apologetically. "I didn't think there would be enough room over here for the three of us, this coffee pot, and your rapidly expanding ego."  
  
Rory stifled a laugh behind her cheeseburger, but Lorelai just shrugged. "Well then, go away and leave the coffee here. It can have Rory's seat," she added generously.  
  
"Hey!" Rory protested through a mouthful of burger.  
  
"You can have some more coffee," Luke informed Rory, and filled her cup to the brim, much to Lorelai's chagrin.  
  
"Lu-uke," she pouted. "I'm paying good money for my free refills here."  
  
"Thanks Luke," Rory said cheerfully. "Actually, can I take mine to go; I have to get back to a newspaper meeting."   
  
"Sure thing; one second," Luke obliged, dissappearing behind the counter once more to grab a styrofoam cup and lid.  
  
"You have to go back to a newspaper meeting tonight?" Lorelai questioned, her coffee quest momentarily forgotten.  
  
"Paris says she only allowed us to break for dinner because she didn't want to hear us whine about malnourishment any longer, but if we're not back by 5:30 she'll mumble mumble mumble grrr," Rory explained. "Or at least, that was the basic gist of it. It was hard to tell through the stuffy nose."   
  
"Uh, sweetie, aren't you forgetting something?" Lorelai asked. Rory stared at her. "The plans..." she prodded. Rory blinked. "With the very cute, very tall boy who has that 'Property of Rory' tattoo on his forehead?"  
  
Rory fell back in her chair, aghast. "Oh my God! I can't believe I forgot," she groaned. She banged her head onto her folded arms. "I'm the worst girlfriend in the history of the world!"  
  
Lorelai observed, half worried, half amused. "Don't you think you're being a little hard on yourself?"  
  
"You don't understand," Rory looked up at her moodily. "I've cancelled our last three dates -- twice because of Chilton stuff, and once to Inn-scout with you and Sookie." Lorelai and Sookie had taken to wandering the nearby towns, trying to find ideally cheap and perfect locations for their Inn. Lorelai claimed it was more fun and ultimately smarter than looking through property-for-sale magazines.   
  
Lorelai was sympathetic. "I'm sure Dean will understand." She noticed her coffee cup was still empty and bellowed, "Luke!"  
  
"Dean will understand what?" A new voice inquired.  
  
The Gilmores jumped. They hadn't noticed the subject of their conversation enter the diner and approach.  
  
"Dean!" Rory said overenthusiastically. She jumped up and kissed him.  
  
Dean took one look at her guilty expression and sighed. "What is it this time? Homework, the newspaper... another Alias marathon?" His tone was teasing, but there was a hint of annoyance behind it.  
  
"It's a guilty pleasure," Lorelai defended.   
  
"Dean, I'm really sorry--" Rory started, feeling like more of a jerk with every word she spoke.   
  
"It's all right," he reassured her mildly. "I've got a test I should really study for anyway."  
  
"I'm really really really--"  
  
"Sorry. I know," Dean smiled and rolled his eyes. Rory watched helplessly as he kissed her on the cheek and backed out of Luke's with a parting wave.  
  
"Great. He hates me now," Rory muttered miserably.   
  
"He does not," Lorelai protested immediately. "He doesn't even dislike you--"  
  
"I have to go-- I'm gonna be late," Rory interrupted suddenly. She stood up and grabbed her car keys off the table. "See you later, ok?"  
  
"O...k," Lorelai said carefully, watching Rory with concern. " 'Bye honey."  
  
*************************************************************************************************  
  
Meanwhile, approximately 35 minutes away, a bored-looking teen was picking at his own cozy family dinner.  
  
"... and one mistake, one mess-up, one backtalk, and I promise you'll be right back on that plane."  
  
Tristan Dugrey stifled a sigh, resisting the urge to tell his father exactly what he thought of his 'generous' act of giving Tristan another chance in Hartford. "Yes sir."  
  
Mr. Dugrey regarded him suspiciously, then, appearing satisfied, waved a hand towards him. "You may be excused now."  
  
Tristan smiled tightly and pushed back his chair. "Thank you, sir," he answered, standing up. He made his way to his room, the wood-paneled walls lacking their usual familiarity and comfort. For two months he'd been the model military student, answering his pleases and thank you's and yes sir's and saluting-- all gold towards the goal of getting out of that hell. And now here was his reward.   
  
He glanced around his room emotionlessly. All that work to get back to this entrapment.   
  
What a waste.  
  
****************************************************************************  
  
Rory frowned thoughtfully as she put the finishing touches on her article about the new gym equipment. The sad thing was, the assignment wasn't some form of punishment from Paris. It was truly one of the most interesting stories they had. Which was probably the reason Paris was even more stressed than usual.   
  
"I'm sure Harvard really appreciates a detailed account of Bobby Snewman's outfit," Paris sneered to herself, making short, deliberate strokes across Madeline's story with a red ballpoint pen. She sneezed.  
  
Rory threw her a sympathetic glance, which Paris ignored. It was Wednesday morning, and they were gathered into the newspaper staff room for their Study Hall period. Rory actually could have used the time to review her history notes, but Paris had made it clear that no one was exempt from these extra meetings.  
  
"Well, if you'd just let her write about something she can handle..." Louise singsonged from the table, boredly applying a third coat of nail polish.   
  
"For the last time, Louise, we are not having a gossip column!" Paris shouted at her.  
  
"Why not?" Louise challenged. "The students want to know. Besides, the halls are alive with the sound of tabloid buzz, what with Tristan's unexpected return and all." She glanced slyly at Paris. Her slight emphasis on Tristan's name was not lost on anybody.  
  
"Yeah, well, excuse me for not putting my future college career in the hands of someone who can't even take a second from --Achoo! -- polishing her nails to -- Achoo! -- proofread --" Paris was forced to stop then by a sneezing fit.  
  
"Well said," Louise muttered.   
  
Thankfully the bell rang before Paris regained her wind to respond. Rory hurried out of the classroom and to her locker.   
  
A familiar sight greeted her: a tousled blonde head and a casual lean. Rory felt a mixture of old annoyance mingled with sincere happiness that Tristan had somehow managed to get himself out of military school. She'd known he'd be miserable there.  
  
"Back from the war?" she asked him lightly. He moved over a few inches to allow her access to her combination.   
  
"Relatively unscathed, even," he drawled and turned to face her. "Listen, I need your help."  
  
"Uh, with?" Rory asked, somewhat taken aback that he'd cut right to the chase.   
  
"The deal is, if I don't keep up my grades, I go back," he told her crisply. "And since I'm behind by about two months..." he trailed off and looked at her.  
  
"You need to borrow my notes?" Rory guessed.  
  
"I was thinking more along the lines of one-on-one tutalage," Tristan responded suggestively, leaning in towards her. "A slightly more.. hands on approach."  
  
Rory stepped away and closed her locker, forcing Tristan to jump back to avoid being slammed in the face. "I don't think that's a good idea." She started down the hall. Being paired into a project together was one thing, but voluntarily spending time with Tristan was another. She was glad for him that he'd returned, but not quite that glad.  
  
"And do you have any reasons to back up this theory of yours?" he asked, falling into step beside her.   
  
"Tristan, you know why," Rory reminded him.   
  
Tristan rolled his eyes. "You don't want to upset your preciously insecure boyfriend, I know, I know." Rory tightened her lips at the obvious disdain in Tristan's voice. "Listen." He put a hand on her arm, and she stopped, surprised, and looked at him. "I'm trusting you with my life here. I really need your help. Please," he added reluctantly.  
  
She studied him thoughtfully. There was no doubt that he was being sincere, but she just couldn't do that to Dean. "I'm sorry," she told him, and she meant it. She pulled back her arm and walked into Shakespeare class.  
  
CHAPTER TWO  
  
"I'm home!" Rory called out, dumping her backpack onto the floor and closing the door behind her.  
  
"In here!" Lorelai called from the kitchen. Rory followed her voice and came upon her mother and Sookie at the kitchen table, leafing through magazines.   
  
"Finally abandoned that search-and-destroy plan?" Rory guessed.  
  
"We decided to go for a less hands-on approach," Lorelai said cheerfully. Rory started at the phrase, her mind flashing to the other person who'd used it earlier that morning. She hadn't even thought of him since then. Not that she should have.  
  
"Besides, we've been through three towns and nothin'," Sookie added glumly. "Ooh! Look at this one!" Lorelai bent forward to examine a property listing.   
  
"Too Little House on the Prairie," Lorelai decided, straightening. "How was school?" she asked Rory.   
  
Rory took a seat across from Sookie. "Uneventful," she shrugged with an uncomfortable smile. "Tristan's on leave from military school," she added noncommittally.   
  
Lorelai raised an eyebrow. "Really. For how long?"  
  
"As God as his witness, he'll never be hungry again," Rory answered.  
  
"I do declare," Lorelai commented with a Southern drawl.  
  
"Exactly," Rory answered. She paused. "He uh, he asked me to tutor him."  
  
Lorelai and Sookie looked at her. "If that's what you kids are calling it these days..." Lorelai teased. Sookie grinned. Rory rolled her eyes. "Oh! Look!" she shoved the magazine back to Sookie.   
  
"Too much," Sookie wrinkled her nose at the picture.   
  
"True," Lorelai agreed, tilting her head to the side. "But look at it from this angle..."  
  
"Not enough."  
  
"Ah. I see what you mean." Lorelai returned to Rory. "So are you gonna do it?" she asked.  
  
"No, no," Rory assured her. "I mean.. I couldn't. Not that I'd want to... I just.. sort of feel bad for him." She shrugged.  
  
"Understandeable, honey, but trust me, you'd rather feel bad for Tristan than feel bad for Dean after you have to explain that you're cancelling Date Number 56-B to make sure Tristan colors inside his lines," Lorelai pointed out. She stood up and added a filter to the coffee pot.   
  
"I know," Rory agreed, then fell into a thoughtful silence.   
  
Lorelai dug in the pot of instant coffee, scooped out a sufficient amount, then stared at it, dissatisfied. "Our coffee doesn't even look the same as Luke's."  
  
"Well, sweetie, I think you need to liquify it first," Sookie suggested calmly. She and Rory exchanged a knowing smile.  
  
Lorelai pouted. "Still. It's just not the same."  
  
Sookie kicked Rory under the table.  
  
"I know what you mean, Mom," Rory jumped in, taking the hint. "Our coffee even smells different. It's definitely not as good as Luke's. I mean, it's not as tasty, or, or filling... or --"  
  
"--Handsome..." Sookie interrupted slyly.  
  
"Yes, exactly, that's just what I--" Lorelai stopped mid-emphatic-agreement and looked at Sookie. "Huh?"  
  
"Oh come off it Lorelai," Sookie said giddily, then lowered her voice conspiritorially. "We all know the real reason you're so keen on the bean."  
  
Lorelai sighed and shook her head. "Not this again. Will you please knock some sense into her?" Lorelai begged of her daughter.   
  
Rory just smiled. Lorelai narrowed her eyes. "Traitor."  
  
Sookie began tapping her feet on the floor to a rythm in her head.  
  
Lorelai looked at her friend warningly. Sookie was bearing an extremely familiar, extremely suspicious, extremely mischeivous expression, and Lorelai didn't like it one bit.   
  
"Sookie," she began slowly. "Don't you dare."  
  
Sookie looked one step away from bursting with giggles. She smiled widely and sputtered a snort. Lorelai took a step towards her. "Sookie, I mean it," Lorelai said firmly. "There are plenty of head chefs out of work right now, just looking for a cushy job at a well-known Inn--"  
  
"--that's about to be closed?" Rory finished for her with a tiny smile of her own. She was going to thoroughly enjoy this.  
  
"You shush," Lorelai instructed her.   
  
Meanwhile, Sookie had opened her mouth and was singing softly. "Da da da da, da da da da, da da da da, da da da da..." Rory joined in as she went through another set of "da da's."  
  
Lorelai threw her hands up in exasperation and turned on her heel.   
  
"I am sitting, in the morning, at the diner, on the corner. I am waiting, at the counter, for the man, to pour the coffee." Sookie danced a little to the beat.   
  
"Sookie!" Lorelai yelled. Sookie ignored her and grabbed Rory's hand, tugging her out of her seat and spinning her in a circle. "Fine, you know what? I don't even care," Lorelai shouted over the next verse. "I don't even care, and you're being completely juvenile, and I don't care at all, and I don't like Luke, and now, thank you very much, I don't even like Suzanne Vega!" Lorelai finished with a shout, and exited the kitchen with gusto.  
  
Sookie followed her out, cha-cha-ing and making up her own verses. Her voice drifted back to Rory. "And I love him, yes I love him, yes the man, behind the counter. And I'd like, much more than coffee, and I wish that he would hug me..."  
  
"SOOKIE!"  
  
Rory burst into laughter.  
  
************************************************************************************  
  
Rory looked around her in desperation, fighting back tears. She moved to grab a paper and knocked over two in the process. She dropped to the floor in annoyance. "Great," she muttered, retrieving them.   
  
"Having some trouble?"   
  
Rory stood up and dusted her pants off. "No," she said grumpily.  
  
Tristan raised his eyebrows and glanced around the room. "So where's the rest of your squadron? Or is this a solo mission?"  
  
Rory looked at him witheringly. "If you fit in so well at military school, why come back here?" she asked him sweetly, her patience long lost.   
  
"Unfinished business," he answered simply, staring at her.   
  
"How Casper of you," she muttered, fitting a trimmed article into the layout.   
  
"We're not really alone in here, are we?" he asked, a twinkle coming into his eye.   
  
"Tristan," Rory said tiredly. "I'm not in the mood."  
  
"I mean, doesn't the paper go out on Monday?" Tristan observed, jamming his hands in his pockets. "Shouldn't there be a dozen little Paris's flitting around the office by now?"  
  
Rory paused in momentary horrification at the thought of more than one Paris, then grit her teeth and sighed. "There would be," she admitted grudgingly. "Except that Louise managed to rally them into a strike or something, and Paris chose today to acknowledge her pneumonia and was rushed to the hospital in the middle of the night and had her maid call and appoint me acting Editor."   
  
Tristan whistled. "Good luck." He turned to leave.  
  
"Thanks a whole lot," Rory muttered sarcastically.  
  
"What do you mean?" Tristan asked her innocently, facing her. "Oh, were you waiting for me to jump in and offer my help or something? 'Cause I seem to remember an instance where help was requested by another person who happens to be standing in this room, and it was denied the inquirer." He smiled a little to show how much he was enjoying her discomfort.  
  
Rory stared at him dejectedly, then returned her focus to the task at hand. "I didn't expect your help, Tristan," she informed him. "If you wouldn't mind leaving, actually..."  
  
"Of course," he obliged grandly. He stepped towards the door.   
  
She bit her lip and closed her eyes, fully regretting what she was about to do. "Tristan, wait."  
  
*********************************************************  
  
"So is it all right that I don't actually attend this school and am putting together it's newspaper?" Lane questioned conversationally, adding Louise's music review to the layout.   
  
"It's more than all right. It's God-like," Rory assured her. "Just uh... don't tell the Headmaster."  
  
"I'm your secret keeper," Lane assured her. She and Rory worked in silence for a few minutes. She chanced a glance at her friend, whose head was bowed in concentration over a stack of notes. "Uh, Rory?" Rory looked up. "I was just wondering..." Lane hesitated uncomfortably.   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
Lane looked over at Tristan and Henry, who were talking lowly as they did their assigned jobs. "Is this maybe one of those things that we should keep from Dean?"   
  
"Why?" Rory said slowly, although she knew the answer. "Having to keep something from Dean would imply that there was something going on that needed to be kept."  
  
"True," Lane agreed quickly.   
  
Rory furrowed her eyebrows. "And there is definitely not. Something worth keeping," she pressed. "I am not a sneaky, keeping-things type of person."  
  
"Well, except for the whole.." Lane smushed her lips up in a pout. Rory nudged her sharply and she returned her expression to normal.   
  
"Just as long as we're clear," Rory said firmly. They worked in silence for a few minutes. "Um, Lane?"  
  
"Yes Rory?"  
  
Rory sighed and scrunched up her nose guiltily. "Although.... if you might maybe try not to bring it up voluntarily..."  
  
"Right."  
  
"I mean, don't start your conversations with, 'Guess who Rory was with on Saturday'-- "  
  
"And maybe mention to Henry..."  
  
"Not that Henry would ever say anything."  
  
"Not that there's anything to say."  
  
"Exactly," Rory breathed, relieved.  
  
Four hours later the quartet plopped, exhausted, into random chairs and slumped over in weary triumph.  
  
"You know, I think this edition might actually even be... unsucky," Rory said in satisfaction.  
  
"Impressive verbal skills," Tristan muttered.  
  
"Paris should be pleased," Lane agreed, twirling a pencil through her fingers.  
  
Henry snorted. "Paris-- pleased with handing the newspaper reins over to someone else?"  
  
"Pleased with her entire staff, save the ever-compliant Miss Gilmore, disobeying her direct orders and nearly destroying the paper?" Tristan added.  
  
"Point taken," Lane nodded.  
  
"Ten bucks to the person who tells Paris what really happened," Rory offered hopefully.   
  
"Ooh, ooh, let me do it, let me," Henry said flatly. "Can I go right now?"  
  
Rory groaned. "Guess I'm stuck with it then," she said unenthusiastically. "Maybe I should call now, when she's half-unconscious."  
  
"You could," Lane said thoughtfully. "Or we could just all go get some coffee."  
  
"Hmm," Rory tilted her head to one side. "Major dilemma."  
  
They all thought. "I don't know. Paris must be pretty weak. This could send her over the edge," Henry contemplated.  
  
"I don't think it is a good idea to kill her," Tristan added, looking as if he didn't care much one way or the other.  
  
"Coffee it is, then," Lane stood up and pushed back her chair. They all began gathering their belongings.  
  
"Yeah, isn't there a great little place in Stars Hollow?" Tristan asked innocently.   
  
"Actually, Lane and I have to get home. Curfew," Rory said pointedly. If she could help it, Tristan would never set foot in Stars Hollow again.  
  
Tristan just grinned at her. "Sure thing, Mary." He grabbed his jacket from the back of a chair.  
  
"If I never see this room again, it will be too soon," Lane observed emphatically, taking a last look around before exiting.   
  
"Hear hear," Rory agreed emphatically, and closed the door behind her.  
  
*************************************************  
  
"You know -- and don't kill me for saying this -- but Tristan actually doesn't seem too bad," Lane remarked to Rory as they walked up the Gilmore driveway.  
  
Rory looked at her in disbelief. "Are you kidding?"  
  
"He was pretty helpful," Lane pointed out.  
  
Rory rolled her eyes. "I had to bribe him."  
  
Lane stopped. "Do I want to know what with, or is it something my mother would make me wash my ears out for?"  
  
"You are hereby looking at Tristan's designated tutor for the rest of the school year-- or, for as long as he needs it," Rory announced glumly.  
  
"Ouch. Well, it's not like he's asking for a kidney or something," Lane pointed out.  
  
"I'd rather give him the kidney."  
  
"And well, if I wasn't already taken," Lane continued.  
  
"Don't you dare say what I think you're about to say," Rory demanded.  
  
"I would maybe kinda say that spending all that time with him isn't such a bad thing," she added carefully, looking sideways at her friend.  
  
Rory shot her a look. "I did not just hear that."  
  
Lane looked at her teasingly. "I know, I know -- demonspawn and all, but admit it -- if you didn't already have--"  
  
"Dean!" Rory interrupted loudly, and smiled widely at the figure of her boyfriend sitting on the porch steps. Lane shut her mouth with a snap and offered Dean a big guilty grin of her own.   
  
Dean looked back at her, a wounded expression on his face. Rory's smile faded.   
  
Lane glanced between the two, then cleared her throat. "Ruh roh."  
  
A profoundly loud silence echoed her sentiment.  
  
"Well. I should have been home, like, 15 minutes ago," Lane lied, backing up quickly. " 'Bye Rory. Call me." With one last sympathetic look, she left.  
  
Rory watched as she jogged down the driveway, wishing she could go with her.  
  
"So," Dean said, an odd tone in his voice. "Tristan's tutor?"  
  
"Oh. Uh, yeah," Rory said uncomfortably. "But it's not what you think. There was a news crisis and --"  
  
"He just happened to be in the right place at the right time." Dean finished for her.  
  
"Exactly," Rory said, relieved.   
  
Dean was quiet for a moment. "And Lane and Henry? They just happened to be there too?"  
  
Rory opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "Well. I called them. Because I needed more people--" she looked at him pleadingly, needing him to understand just one more time.  
  
"Why didn't you call me?" Dean asked, looking her straight in the eye.  
  
"Because I know you work Saturdays--"  
  
"Not since Christmas. I told you that," Dean reminded her. "You penciled it on your calendar. I was there."  
  
"And because you and Tristan don't get along," Rory pressed on, babbling.  
  
"Ohhh, so for the sake of preventing an argument, you chose to ask Tristan for help and even agree to tutor him instead of just calling me?" Dean looked at her incredulously. "I could've helped you. Or am I just not smart enough for a Chilton newspaper?"  
  
"Dean, of course that's not it!" Rory protested.   
  
Dean shook his head. "I don't understand it, Rory. And I don't think you do either."   
  
Rory's forehead wrinkled. "Understand what?"   
  
"This.. thing you have for him, that keeps drawing you back to him."  
  
"I do not have a thing for him--"  
  
A thought was nagging inside her, though. He was right. Why hadn't she just called and asked him for help? It was an obvious solution. Why hadn't she thought of it? Dean would've been more than happy to, and she'd known he wasn't working. Tristan had just.. been right there, she reasoned. It was convenient, was all. Convenient like calling Lane and Henry in the middle of their date to drag them to Chilton to help?   
  
Dean shook his head and stepped around her.  
  
Rory whirled towards him helplessly. "Dean!"  
  
"Why don't you call me when you figure all of this out?" Dean suggested calmly.   
  
Rory stared in disbelief as he dissappeared from view. Had that just really happened? She felt numb. It had happened so fast, and over something so stupid. And now they were broken up again?  
  
A tear rolled down her cheek. She brushed it away angrily and walked inside. "Mom?" she called out immediately. She had to analyze what had just happened, and she was afraid if she tried to do it alone she would go insane. "Mom?" she called again when no one answered. She peeked into the kitchen, then took the steps two at a time to check Lorelai's bedroom. The empty room, dark with night, greeted her.  
  
Somberly, she sat at the edge of the bed and hugged a pillow to her chest. A second tear ran down her face, then another. She smushed her head into the pillow, then leaned back against the wall. After a second she picked up the phone.  
  
One ring, two.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hello Mrs. Kim, may I please speak with Lane?" Rory asked dully.  
  
"Lane busy. Praying. You go pray too." A click.  
  
Rory sighed and dialed a new number.  
  
"Hello?" A pleasant voice asked.   
  
"Hi Grandpa," Rory couldn't help smiling tinily at how cheery he sounded. Retirement seemed like the best thing that had happened to Richard Gilmore since he'd started working.  
  
"Rory!" her grandfather greeted her enthusiastically. "Emily, it's Rory!" he added in a muffled voice, obviously over his shoulder to his wife.  
  
"How are you, Grandpa?" Rory asked. Richard answered positively, launching into a story about a golf game. Rory felt herself relaxing. This was just what she needed, to just listen and get her mind off what had happened.   
  
"And how's that boyfriend of yours?"  
  
Rory grimaced, a pang resounding through her stomache. "He's fine, Grandpa."  
  
"Good, good," Richard said jovially. "One second, your grandmother wants to speak with you."  
  
"Rory darling?" Emily chirped a second later. "Is everything all right? How's your mother?"  
  
"Oh, she's fine, everything's ok," Rory lied. "Um, she's... out somewhere right now, I think."  
  
"How nice," Emily commented pleasantly.   
  
"Yeah," Rory answered, strained. She'd thought her grandparents' cheeriness would lift her spirits, but if anything, they were only making her realize how sad she was.   
  
"Rory?" Emily asked questioningly to her change in tone.  
  
Rory couldn't answer for a moment. Her throat was tightening, and her eyes were aching with the effect of holding back her tears. "I have to go, Grandma," Rory managed to choke out.   
  
"Ror--"  
  
She slammed the phone into its cradle and slid down along the wall. Curling up, she rested her hand under her head and sniffled. 


End file.
